


We Only Remember (What We Wish)

by DeductionIsKey



Series: Life Doesn't Discriminate [2]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Burr is a wreck don’t pretend otherwise, Character Study, F/M, Gen, Hamilton is Passionate™️, Major character death - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 21:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17630054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeductionIsKey/pseuds/DeductionIsKey
Summary: When Aaron Burr is put into the history books, he’s not there as a Founding Father. He’s not there as the Father of American Law. He’s not there as a hero.The only legacy he knows is one of a murderer.And to him, that was the worst punishment there is.





	We Only Remember (What We Wish)

**Author's Note:**

> I’m totally procrastinating on my Marvel fics.. can you tell? I’m hitting y’all twice in a row with 18-19th century RPF? 
> 
> Enjoy hopefully!

“Outcasts, callused from being in exile for too long, learn to thrive on being the hated; the attention and infamy of our actions fuel us to become antiheroes. Too often do we forget: we risk self-destruction if we fail to follow what we know is right; our talents too often become misplaced, misdirected, misguided from what could have been something wonderful.” ― Mike Norton, Fighting For Redemption

-

Aaron Burr was the Father of American Law. He was a well-known lawyer, prestigious in his reputation and cold to his clients. He knew no passions - except when he was on the stand. There, fire filled him as he fought for his client's cause, whether they were guilty or not didn't matter in the end, as long as there was a paycheck to follow.  
  
He found others dull, needlessly sentimental, blank pieces of parchment that were content to lay on wood tables and beds for the rest of their lives. None had his fire. None, his wit.  
  
His father had known God, had preached to Aaron about the importance of giving over his will and control to God, but gazing around, at the occupants of loud, dirty New York, Aaron knew only one who was in control of his life - himself.  
  
He was unique. He was blessed. He was great.  
  
"Aaron Burr? Aaron Burr, sir?"  
  
He stopped. He'd know countless admirers over the years, had seen the delirious fervor in countless men - all who thought they were on pare in him. "You reminded me of myself-" "Burr, you and I have so much in common-"  
  
They were nothing to him. (They were nothing like him.)  
  
Neanderthals, the lot of them.  
  
For some reason, though, on that hot summer day, Burr paused when he heard his name called. Curiosity, of a lot he had not felt in so very long, pulled at him.  
  
So he stopped. So he turned around.  
  
Immediately, he noticed several things.  
  
The man was.. very short.  
  
The bronze face of the man that faced him was incredibly young, boyish in the jawline and eyes alight with a combination of naïveté which Burr had not seen in years. The young man was wearing several layers of velvet clothes, which to the untrained eye, made him appear as a young heir. But Burr knew better. He too had seen the short end of the stick, had known what it felt like to go hungry at night. This man had certainly done his research on the clothes of the 'gents', but every beggar-boy recognized another, no matter how fancy their attire be.  
  
In addition to all this, the man seemed to be...vibrating? It had been mere seconds since Burr had turned around, and the excitement that visibly coated the other man's figure had caused the other to not once stop moving.  
  
All this Burr noticed. He somehow noticed the most obvious fact last however:  
  
He would also not stop talking.  
  
Burr twitched.  
  
A part of him wished for this.. meeting to go as all others do with his 'fans', filled with platitudes and fake laughs, and then false promises to 'get in contact!', followed by awkward goodbyes.  
  
He felt his hand rise slightly to do just that.  
  
But, then.. he didn't.  
  
Something stopped him. (Later, the part of himself that still remembered his father's teachings would tell him it was God. Burr would respond with agnostic fervor: shut up.)  
  
The man had still not stopped talking. It was near babbling now.  
  
Burr took pity on him.  
  
“Would you join me for a drink, Mr...?” He trailed it off into a question, a silent invitation of a name that was said almost softly. The man was barely out of his boyhood, Burr realized, and his nervousness was reminiscent of the uncertainty that had followed Burr’s every step before he truly learned just who he was, just what he could do.  
  
(Dimly, Burr realized that this was the longest he had indulged one of his admirers. This thought was astutely ignored.)  
  
“Um, yeah! Yes, yes, of course! And, uh, my name is Hamilton, sir. Alexander Hamilton.” The other man had brightened even more at Burr’s offer, not even offended at the evidence of Burr not even slightly listening to him earlier. Hamilton’s smile was so desperately happy that it made part of Burr’s cold heart ache - the sight of innocence that was so rare in this modern times.  
  
As Burr guided the man with a soft hand upon his back to the local pub, smiling widely, he thought that perhaps there was a future for American Law after-all, and perhaps it really wasn’t so terribly hot outside.

 

(Things happen inside of that pub, that day. Aaron tries to warn Alexander. He doesn’t listen.

  
He never will.)  
-  
Later, when Hamilton was speaking his way wildly through a courtroom, Burr’s mouth would only be twisted in the disgusted curl of envy.  
  
(He wouldn’t think about how naïve Alexander had been.)  
  
Later, when Hamilton came to his house in the middle of the night, with bright eyes and promises of glory, Burr would know only discomfort and outrage at the truths Hamilton would spit back at him.  
  
(He wouldn’t think about how the passion he had seen in Hamilton had dimmed so very much in himself.)  
  
Later, when Burr’s sight was blurred with red anger and rage beyond reason, when he held a cold, cold pistol in the dim light of dawn, he wouldn’t pause for a single second.  
  
(Most importantly, he definitely wouldn’t remember the light that he had seen in Hamilton’s eyes so, so long ago.)  
  
But later, when he shouted a desperate “ _Wait_!” as the bullet sped in its destructive path, the only thing he would see was that young boy, at the cusp of manhood, on the other side of the trigger. And when Alexander fell, he would only remember that hot New York day.  
  
Everything ends. All lights grow dim, all stars fade.  
  
Aaron just never thought he’d be the one to pluck one of the brightest out.  
  
(When Aaron Burr is put into the history books, he’s not there as a Founding Father. He’s not there as the Father of American Law. He’s not there as a hero.  
  
The only legacy he knows is one of a murderer.  
  
And to him, that was the worst punishment there is.)

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments and bookmarks are SO appreciated! Even a keyboard smash makes my day. ^.^


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